


Hide the Mistletoe

by cosmicthief



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Almost Kiss, Christmas Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Multiple chapters, but we all know THAT won't last, characters tropes etc, skate to... break the ice, tags will be added as needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-12 06:23:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9059326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicthief/pseuds/cosmicthief
Summary: [On Temporary Hiatus!]
Yuuri has a problem. Maybe more than one.
   1. He just got broken up with.2. There are five days until Christmas.3. His mom's expecting a date at their celebration.
And that's where the list is supposed to end, right? Wrong, because apparently:
   4. Viktor Nikiforov has decided to take a break from skating, as well.5. And he's beginning his vacation in Japan.6. And he's offering to be a backup date???
Something tells him he won't last this holiday season.





	1. Christmas Comes Early

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! Welcome to Allie's Descent Into Ice Skating Hell.
> 
> This came up as an idea about two weeks ago, but I had other things going on, so hey-- here's a late Christmas present to everyone! I hope y'all like it-- it IS my first fic, so be gentle.

**Breaking News: Viktor Nikiforov to Take Break Year in Skating**

_ The five-time Russian Champion of the Ice announced early this morning that he is, indeed, taking what he calls a “gap year” for the time being. While speculations and rumors have been circulating over the idea of the 28-year-old sensation taking a step back from his craft, this is the first time any real confirmation has come about. _

_ “I have decided to do this for one simple reason,” Nikiforov said. “I have lost my inspiration for skating. Without inspiration, there is no art. Without art, there is no skating.” _

_ Yakov Feltsman, Nikiforov’s long-time coach, chose not to comment on the new development.  _

_ However, Yuri Plisetsky, 15-year-old rinkmate to Nikiforov, spoke thusly: “Viktor’s making a mistake, going off and chasing inspiration. I don’t know what goes on in that [redacted] head anymore.” _

_ While many are disappointed about the star’s seeming disappearance, others are excited to see what this year does to him, if it does anything. Some speculate he will come back better than ever, others think he won’t return at all. _

_ “For all I know, he could end up in Japan,” Plisetsky added. _

 

~

 

_ > I’m sorry for the late notice, this just isn’t working out. _

_ >I can’t do this. _

_ >It’s over, Yuuri. _

18 words stare up at him from his phone, dotted with wet spots from where snowflakes land gently on the screen and melt, only to slide down and catch on his quickly-freezing fingers. For a moment, he can’t even process the words, and he just stares at them in dumb silence, his heart stuttering.

_ Isn’t working out… can’t do this… it’s over… _

_ No, no! _ Yuuri Katsuki claps a cold hand over his mouth, catching the hot breaths that collapse out as tears prick his eyes.  _ No, no no no… _

“Oh,  _ no… _ ” he moans, sinking onto a bench so his legs won’t give out from under him.  _ Now? _ Why  _ now? _ And just in time for Christmas, too? What about dinner, and mistletoe, and presents, and family, and being  _ happy—  _

He hiccups, which isn’t that bad, but then he sniffles, and the sound practically echoes, which is just  _ perfect. _ Good thing there aren’t many people out walking. Not with the snow coming down like it is, not when everyone’s preparing for the celebrations in five days’ time. Celebrations that  _ Yuuri _ will have ruined for his family with this news.

He was supposed to have a  _ guest _ … What’s he going to do, now?

Yuuri settles his feet up on the bench, knees pressed to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs like an octopus. His eyes burn, and hot tears spill out over his cheeks. With a sob that shoots out a white puff, he presses his forehead to the tops of his knees, exhaling his anguish where hopefully no one can see his face.

_ Stupid, stupid, stupid… Now what am I going to do? _

Brown eyes clench shut as he grits his teeth.

_ They’re going to be disappointed… It’s all my fault. _

His shoulders quake, breath coming out harsh. Images of his mother’s sad face flashes in his mind, as do those 18 words, swirling and mocking him. When he thought the year couldn’t get any worse… Now, he has  _ this _ happening at  _ Christmas _ .

He knocks his head on his knees.  _ What a joke. _ And to think he thought choosing to stay  _ home _ for a year would help his anxieties ease, but not even a  _ month _ after the disastrous final, he’s stuck sobbing on a bench in his hometown. This is  _ awful _ .

It was supposed to be a  _ good _ idea. Gap years were supposed to help clear your head, help you take a breather from life— especially such a stressful life as that of a professional figure skater.  _ Looks like I managed to screw  _ that _ up, too. _

With another sniffle, Yuuri shakes his head, hoping to stop  _ thinking _ and just sob it out. Then he would go home, explain the situation, and everything would be  _ fine _ . It  _ had _ to be fine. He couldn’t  _ screw it up—  _

“Now,  _ that’s _ no way to spend the holidays. Er,  _ pre- _ holidays.”

Yuuri freezes as a presence slips into the spot beside him on the bench, unable to catch the familiar voice. Of  _ course _ he has to find company  _ now _ of all times— sobbing, snow piling on his shoulders, looking like a miserable  _ mess. _ He hugs his knees tighter to his chest, trying to hide his face as best as he can so the stranger can at least be spared the damage of seeing his snotty, ruddy face. His shoulders don’t stop shaking, but at least it’s a start.

“Oh, come on, is that any way to treat your savior? Don’t I get to see your face?”

_ Savior— _ ? Yuuri realizes, a little too late, that the snow isn’t falling in his hair in a continuous loop, anymore, and is instead beginning to melt, which plasters his hair to the back of his neck in a  _ weird _ sensation. The cold water trails under his coat, down his back. Suppressing a shiver, he looks up to find an umbrella lofted over his head, held by a careful hand leading to a strong shoulder which gives way to an elegant slope of neck, crystal blue eyes, and hair the color of—

His eyes go wider than saucers as he tries to find words. “Y-you’re—”

Viktor Nikiforov grins at him, the action crinkling his eyes just a bit, and Yuuri wants to  _ die. _ “Hm? Have we met before?”

He speaks as if he  _ isn’t _ one of the poster children for international figure skating, but it’s such a genuine tone that Yuuri can’t pin it on cockiness. There’s also that bit of  _ joking _ to his tone, like he already knows the answer, he’s just waiting for Yuuri to say it.  _ Yes, _ is the truth.  _ Yes, but only when you wanted a picture and I turned tail and ran like a scolded dog because— because—  _ They hadn’t exchanged names, so… no, no they haven’t met. Not in Yuuri’s book.

Yuuri shakes his head slowly, words still muddled and starstruck. “N-no, it’s just— You’re  _ Viktor Nikifo _ —”

His idol waves a hand, and Yuuri’s mouth shuts as quickly as a snapping turtle’s. (In fact, his teeth hurt from the impact, and he winces just a bit.) “None of that, calm down,”  _ Viktor Nikiforov holy katsudon _ says. “You’re  _ supposed _ to be telling me what has a star like you crying.”

“S- _ Star? _ ” Okay, here’s where he starts wondering if he’s hallucinating because did Viktor,  _ the Viktor _ , just call him a  _ star? _ He’s died of mortification by now, surely.

Viktor blinks down at him like he’s actually  _ surprised. _ “Well, you’re Yuuri Katsuki, right? I would think I’d remember  _ you _ , even if it seems like you’re not on the intense skating regimen anymore.” That last part is paired with a pat to Yuuri’s cheek (slightly chubbier from all the comfort food he’s enjoyed), and the young man can’t help but jump at the contact, no matter how brief.

He  _ really _ can’t help how he’s paralyzed when Viktor’s hand  _ lingers. _ And did he  _ imagine _ the way Viktor’s voice had lowered when he said  _ you? _ Was that  _ familiarity _ in his tone, or is Yuuri going mad?

“Yeah,” Yuuri says, and he  _ hates _ how dumb and awestruck his voice is. “Uh, yeah— yeah, Yuuri Katsuki, that’s me, the— the one who—”  _ Failed miserably and refused to return for what might have been my last year skating? _ No, he’s not going to say that to his  _ inspiration. _ Why is he even here? Why would  _ Viktor Nikiforov _ come to  _ Japan _ for— what was it, wasn’t he looking for  _ inspiration? _

Yuuri’s stomach turns, and he closes his mouth, at a loss for any more words.

“Alright then, introductions are done!” Viktor grins that megawatt, brighter-than-the-sun smile, and Yuuri’s lost in it for the briefest (or not so briefest) of moments. “Now, what are you so upset about, Yuuri?” He says the name like he’s been saying it his whole life, like it’s  _ natural, _ which is pretty convincing considering how it sounds so  _ easy _ on his tongue—

_ Don’t think about his tongue, Yuuri. Or his mouth. _ “Ah, I…” The ex-skater swipes at his eyes, getting rid of any stray tears that  _ hadn’t _ disappeared from shock. “Just, relationship problems.”

“Oh?” Viktor props his chin in his free hand, tilts his head like a dog. “I’m listening.”

_ Okay, but why? _ No, Yuuri won’t be  _ that _ rude to him. “I just— we had—” Yuuri flushes, but hopefully it’s lost in how his cheeks are already colored from the cold and the crying. “It’s not important,” he finishes, lame as always.

“Important or not, I want to hear it.” Viktor leans forward, his smile so much  _ softer _ now. “Humor a fellow skater.”

“Curiosity killed the cat.” Though it’s meant as something to light the mood, it comes out as nothing more than a solemn plea to  _ not ask. _

“But satisfaction brought it back— is that how the saying goes?” Apparently  _ subtlety _ isn’t part of Viktor Nikiforov’s repertoire. 

Yuuri swallows—  _ gulps _ is a better word for it— and turns his attention back to his knees, where his pants are still wet where his tears had fallen. He shrugs, because really, he has  _ no idea _ how that saying ends, anyways.  _ Why do I have to be such a mess? _ “M-my boyfriend.” He pauses, winces at how easily he gave in, but Viktor shows no response so far. “ _ Ex- _ boyfriend… he was supposed to fly in for the holidays, meet my family.” Talking about it brings that hot lump back up in his throat, and his voice trembles so  _ pathetically _ . “My mother was so excited to have him over for Christmas, but… Well, he just broke up with me.” The last words are a small whimper, and he hides his face again, willing himself to melt into a puddle and slide through the bench, away from Viktor Nikiforov and all his glory.

“Why would that make you upset?”

Yuuri blinks and looks back up, in shock for the second time in almost as many minutes. “Wh-what?”

“Well, you wouldn’t want someone who didn’t even love you to meet your family, right?” Viktor waves his hand in a small, noncommittal gesture. “I thought you brought partners to meet your family because you  _ trusted _ them and expected them to stay for a while. Why be sad when, honestly, he just saved you the trouble of seeing if he was worth it?”

In some weird way, Yuuri can’t argue with that. Since when was the Russian superskater an advice guru? “I guess you’re right, but… what do I tell my family?”

“That things didn’t work out.”  _ Duh, _ is the word that’s supposed to be tacked on at the end of that.

Yuuri groans at the sky, at the umbrella over their heads, and closes his eyes. “It’s  _ five days _ until Christmas, Viktor. What do I tell my excited mother? ‘ _ Sorry, your son didn’t actually find love? Don’t worry about that spare bedroom you set up? _ ’ I… I don’t want to disappoint her.”

Viktor purses his lips and scratches at his temple. “Would she really be disappointed in you?”

“Well— not in  _ me _ , or at least, I don’t  _ think so _ , but—” Yuuri groans again, but it almost sounds like a whine when he speaks again (which he hates). “I don’t want to  _ find out _ , okay? She’s been worried about me, what with the whole…” He gestures. The  _ failure. _ Of  _ course _ Viktor would know of it, so he doesn’t even bother wording it. “I wanted her to think I’m better, she thought he was helping, but he just  _ ruined _ it all.” His hands ball up, but the frustration is as fleeting as blades on the ice. “I don’t want to give her  _ worry _ for Christmas.”

When he’s met with silence, he opens his eyes a smidge and risks a glance at Viktor, only to find the other studying him with those  _ blue blue so blue _ eyes. His cheeks burn and his eyes snap shut again just as Viktor speaks.

“Did you even love him?”

His eyes shoot open. “What sort of question is that—?”

Viktor shrugs, face passive. “You just don’t seem as upset about losing  _ him _ as you do about not being able to have him for your mother.”

Oh. He… he hadn’t realized that, as is indicated by his  _ burning ears. _ “It— That doesn’t matter. I’m taking one problem at a time.”

“So the problem at hand is... you need a date?”

Now his whole  _ face _ feels like the deepest fires of the earth are upon it _. _ “I don’t  _ need _ one, I…” He pauses. Reconsiders. “Yes. Yes, I need a date. But I can’t just get someone to fake it because Mom knows all my friends.”  _ And _ they probably have other plans for Christmas.

“Then you found one!”

The noise Yuuri makes can be described as both strangled  _ and _ shrill. “I  _ what? _ ”

“Found a date!” Viktor grins and boops Yuuri’s nose. Yuuri tries to follow the action with his eyes, but he just ends up cross-eyed, which makes the Russian laugh. _ He’s going to die. _ “I still need a place to stay for this vacation, anyways. Consider the deal made!”

Yuuri blinks once. Twice. Plenty more times. In his staring, he notices how Viktor’s hair falls, how his entire  _ being _ seems to light up the world around him when he smiles, how the cold has given him a faint flush to his cheeks— “I—  _ No. _ ”

Viktor’s face drops the grin, and he looks like a lost puppy  _ oh goodness he looks like a lost little puppy— _ “‘No?’”

“I-I-I can’t!”  _ Keep going, Yuuri Katsuki, be strong! _ “You’re— they  _ know _ who you are!  _ Everyone _ knows who you are! They would already  _ know _ if we were— were—”  _ Dating. _ The word burns on the tip of his tongue. He douses the flames. “It would be hard to… sell.”

_ Not to mention I would be  _ sorely _ disappointed if I had to torture myself with your fake affection. _ Is spontaneous combustion a thing that really happens? Because it’s about to.

“Why do we need to sell it?” There’s no accusation or anything, just genuine  _ curiosity _ and how did Yuuri get himself in this situation? “The world can’t know  _ everything _ about Viktor Nikiforov.  _ Or _ Yuuri Katsuki.” Viktor’s (perfect) lips purse yet again as he regards Yuuri with a raised eyebrow. “Do you not want me as your date?”

Yuuri chokes.  _ Real or not, spontaneous combustion is the only way out. _ “I— It’s not  _ that _ .”

“Then what’s the problem?”

_ You’re you and I’m me. _ “I…” He won’t voice that,  _ can’t _ voice it, so Yuuri sits back and accepts defeat. “... There is no problem.”

“So it’s settled! Now I have a place to stay for the holidays!”

“No, wait—” Viktor frowns, and Yuuri wants to curl up and scream just a little bit. “They’re expecting him—  _ you _ — in three days. We’re not ready for a visitor, yet.”

“Can’t we just share a bed?”

When Yuuri makes a face similar to that of a dying fish, Viktor laughs this deep-bellied laugh that makes the ex-skater relax  _ just _ a bit.

“I’m kidding, I’ll show up in three days. I’m sure I can find somewhere else to stay for that long.  _ And _ keep out of the public eye until then. Besides,” Viktor adds, with a wink, “it gives us time to get to know each other, right?”

Last chance to step out. Last chance to get out of this. But… why would he  _ want to? _ “Yes,” Yuuri breathes, and he hates how  _ small _ he sounds.

Viktor  _ beams _ and leans forward, brushing their noses together with mischievous eyes. “Here’s to a happy Christmas!”

That’s when Yuuri realizes these next three days are going to be some of the (best) weirdest, scariest, and  _ intimidating _ of his life.

_ Happy Christmas, indeed... _


	2. Break the Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri likes blue. Viktor likes brown. They skate. Shenanigans ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the warm reception on the first chapter, everyone! I'm gonna try and keep these at weekly-ish updates... I hope they can keep up with your expectations!

The snow today isn’t as  _ harsh _ . It’s light and fluffy, coming down in gentle clumps that Yuuri catches on his tongue on his walk to the rink. It was the one place Viktor had suggested they meet to discuss the, uh…  _ parameters _ for their new partnership. Yuuri could name at least three reasons his  _ figure skating champion idol _ had chosen the rink, of all places, and none of them were reasons he felt good about.

For reference, those three reasons are:

  1. He’s a skater, and skaters skate (and expect fellow skaters to skate _with_ them, which is what has Yuuri worried).
  2. He hoped that it would be a place they both would be comfortable. (Which, yeah sure, but no matter _where_ they are, Yuuri’s going to be a mess.)
  3. He has some sort of KGB set up there waiting for Yuuri to show up so they can bag him and drag him back to Russia for intense figure skating. (This one’s a bit off the wall, but _it can happen!_ )



No matter  _ how _ much Yuuri worried, they needed  _ somewhere _ , and mind-melted Yuuri Katsuki couldn’t think of any better place than his familiar rink, his second (or third) home. Of course. Totally. Bring your  _ fake _ date to one of your most personal places, somewhere you let your heart out entirely, where you can  _ set free _ and all that other artsy stuff that sounds suspiciously like something Viktor would spout. That’s a  _ great _ idea, and totally  _ isn’t _ setting you up for failure.

_ Oh,  _ please _ don’t let this end in a failure. I don’t know how much more I can take. _

Despite his worries, though, he can’t help the surge of  _ excitement _ .  _ Viktor Nikiforov _ is meeting him in  _ his home rink. _ To talk about a  _ date _ . It’s like Christmas has come early—

But Yuuri has to remember this isn’t anything real, this is a mutually beneficial agreement, and when Viktor leaves, he’ll be gone for  _ good _ . This is just a way for Viktor to get a room and for Yuuri to avoid being a mess of depressed goo at Christmas. He probably doesn’t even remember what Yuuri’s eye color is.

(But oh, does Yuuri remember how blue Viktor’s are. And how beautiful. And how they shine when he laughs and hide behind his bangs sometimes even on camera—)

_ Stop it, Yuuri. _ Looks like that little celebrity crush hasn’t died out, yet. Apparently actual exposure to the man just rekindled it, actually… 

He shoves his hands in his pockets and speeds up his pace to the rink, willing himself to think about pork bowls, instead. Those never give you false senses of hope, and they  _ definitely _ didn’t have blue eyes. Or hair.

* * *

Viktor can’t get the color brown out of his head. Not Makkachin’s coat, no, he’s thinking of a deep, rich brown, the color of smooth chocolate and perfect coffee. The comforting color of warm earth in the summer. The color of Yuuri Katsuki’s eyes, which seem to like staring at the ground when Viktor’s around, which is a  _ damn _ shame. How are they going to work with that, if they’re supposed to do the couple act?

_ Actually… _ As he leans on a rail by Yuuri’s original rink, Viktor can  _ not _ shake himself of Yuuri’s actions the night previous. He had walked him home, even offered to hold his hand, yet Yuuri had brushed off any and all affection with bright red cheeks and his eyes held low. So  _ different _ from the Yuuri he knew, or  _ thought _ he knew.

It  _ fascinates _ him.

And he hadn’t mentioned they had met before, what was  _ that? _ Of course they had. Either that, or Viktor was going nuts from being off the ice for too long. Maybe it had something to do with how Yuuri had avoided him when they had all actually headed home—  _ after _ the party. How he had just looked down with that despondent gaze and marched off. As if he had no reason to stay, or he thought no one  _ wanted _ him to stay.

(And, to be honest, Viktor’s heart had shriveled a little after being brushed off so easily.)

Viktor realizes his brow’s furrowed and quickly fixes it. He doesn’t want to look like he’s scowling when Yuuri shows up. Hopefully some time skating will jog his memory, will loosen him up a little. Perhaps he was just upset about the breakup— though Viktor still has his own personal opinion on  _ why _ exactly Yuuri was so upset about it. And that reason  _ isn’t _ because he missed his boyfriend. Er—  _ ex _ -boyfriend.  _ But  _ boy _ friend all the same, _ he thinks with a grin. At least  _ that’s _ not an obstacle in his way.

Yuuri’s just a young man who doesn’t want his mother to worry. He’s not upset about the breakup, he’s upset about disappointing his family for the holidays.  _ Even if they probably don’t even care about a plus one, _ Viktor adds quietly. The thought, however odd, brings a smile to Viktor’s face. Whatever new side he’s seeing of Yuuri Katsuki, he knows he  _ enjoys _ it, if only because it adds more to his character, gives him more to know and experience. A sensitive, shy 24-year-old? With  _ glasses? _

Ugh, he’s  _ perfect. _ Maybe the  _ fake _ part of their arrangement should have been tossed out.

Speaking of— where even  _ is _ he? They had agreed to meet at— oh, wait. With a brief look at his phone, Viktor realizes he’s actually early, if anything. Perhaps it was the excitement, or maybe because he hadn’t gotten all his sightseeing in, yet. But… if that was the case, he would be actually sightseeing instead of sitting here and waiting. Sure, there’s a nice view from where he’s standing. The sun is close to setting, and the light it casts over the rest of the city is heavenly. But  _ his _ sightseeing involves throwing himself into the thick of things to see what’s going on.

Much like he threw himself into this Japan trip right after announcing his break year.

Yuri had lost his shit, for lack of a better phrase. “ _ You did that  _ just _ because I mentioned it to the press, didn’t you?! _ ”

Viktor smiles at the memory. No, that’s not why he came (he even tried to explain it), but once Yuri’s stuck on something, he won’t switch tracks until he has run himself right off the cliff. It’s that teenage bullheadedness, for sure. The  _ actual _ reason confuses even Viktor, in a few ways. But right now, he’s just worried about waiting for said reason to  _ finally get here. _

“Viktor!”

_ Speak of the angel—  _ He perks up, grinning  and holding up the hand holding his skates as a sort of greeting to his  _ fake _ partner jogging to him. Yuuri’s cheeks are flushed from the run, his hair every which way and glasses slightly askew. As if he  _ knows _ that Viktor’s admiring the look, he moves to push his glasses up, then works on getting his hair into a more  _ acceptable _ state when he finally reaches him.

Viktor doesn’t really know he’s reaching for his wrist until it happens. The movement freezes, and he pauses just a bit. When Yuuri looks at him like he’s a deer stuck in headlights, he offers another easy smile, waving the other’s hand. “No point fixing it if it’s going to get messed up again by skating, right?”

Yuuri swallows, but his scarf covers how his Adam’s apple bobs, which is a  _ severe _ injustice, considering Viktor’s gaze had gone to the trouble of traveling down his neck to search for it. “Uh… right. Skating.” His eyes dart to the pair of skates and back to Viktor’s eyes, and the latter realizes that Yuuri has none of his own.

Viktor drops the hand, hooking his hand on his wrist behind his back and  _ squeezing. _ Whoever this new Yuuri is, he definitely isn’t good with forward advances— which will be hard, considering they’re supposed to act like a  _ couple _ , but they have three days to make that work. They can make this work.

_ Oh,  _ please _ let me make this work. _

“So this is your rink?”

Yuuri’s casually avoiding eye contact, which is  _ another _ injustice that Viktor adds to his never-ending list. “Yes. Well— not  _ mine _ , my friend’s… I asked her to let us in today, but they’re usually closed.” He smiles, small and sheepish, and lifts a jingling key ring. “Which is why she gave me the key.”

Viktor tries to ignore that flash of mischief he thinks he sees. And how it makes him want to swoon just a little.

“Does she know…” Viktor pauses before gesturing between them. “About  _ us? _ ” Saying it like that makes it seem like they’re real, which keeps his smile going.

Judging by Yuuri’s blush, he perceives it as that, too. “No.” He winces. “But if she finds out from anyone else but me, she won’t let me hear the end of it, so I’ll have to tell her at  _ some _ point.” He catches Viktor’s gaze, smiles again as he shrugs. “Just not today.”

_ Stop staring at the way his lips stretch in a smile. _ “Well, what are we waiting for?” Viktor clears his throat, hopes his voice doesn’t sound as odd as it  _ feels. _ “Let’s get to skating!”

Yuuri sighs, reaches up to scratch at his neck. As he leads them to the door and fits one of the keys in to turn it, he murmurs, “I had a feeling you would say something like that.”

Viktor can feel his forehead crease. “Is there a problem with that?”

“No, no! I just—” Yuuri hangs his head, biting his lip for a small moment. (When he releases it, it’s red and plump. Not like Viktor’s staring.) “I haven’t skated with anyone since coming home.” He says it like some sort of sinful confession, which it very well  _ might _ be, to a professional skater.

“Why would you do that?” The forehead crease isn’t letting up. “Don’t you like skating?”

“I do, but…” Yuuri huffs.

“But?”

“But I always do better when I’m alone.”

Viktor tilts his head, purses his lips. “How are you supposed to get better about crowds if you won’t even skate with anyone?”

Yuuri shrugs.

“Well what about next year? The Grand Prix?”

Yuuri almost  _ flinches, _ and Viktor distantly wonders if he’s treading on dangerous territory, but he keeps going. “There’s no harm in practice, right?”

“I don’t  _ know. _ ”

When Yuuri stops, Viktor stops, and he realizes that he’s been staring at him too long because if he  _ hadn’t _ been, he would have realized he’s about to step right into the boards surrounding the rink. All at once, he’s aware of the chill in the air, kissing at his exposed skin and welcoming him back into his haven. Yuuri’s hands come up on top of the boards and curl gently, like he’s shaking hands with an old friend, but then they tighten, and Viktor feels a sort of pity for the poor wood.

Yuuri shrugs. “I… I don’t know.” It sounds like he’s got his mind on a much  _ larger _ topic than just practice.

Viktor  _ knows _ what happened at the Grand Prix, how Yuuri’s nerves had supposedly dragged him down. But that  _ night _ , Yuuri hadn’t seemed to care. He was celebrating just like the rest of them… Or maybe Viktor just saw it that way. He resists an urge to pinch himself.

He hums, the noise quiet but  _ enough _ because Yuuri’s hands loosen their grip on the poor boards. “Partners are supposed to support one another, right?”

The grip comes back, and he can tell Yuuri’s wary by the stiffness of his form. “... Right.”

“Well then, I need to get good at supporting you, right?”

“... Right…” Viktor knows what he’s thinking:  _ but this is an act, anyways. _ Oh well.

“So…” Viktor smiles, giving Yuuri’s hand a pat and giving in to the little urge that desperately pleads  _ keep it there. _ “I should support you. Bending to your insecurities isn’t going to help you get over them, you know.” His tone softens just a bit, and his smile feels like warm honey at the edges. “We’ll take it step by step, alright?”

Yuuri sighs, low and slow. He doesn’t pull his hand away. It’s quiet for the longest time, but it’s a nice quiet, one that’s necessary. They might be on a schedule, but Yuuri’s comfort comes first, right? That’s what partners are for.

“Alright.” He nods, just a short dip of his head that fluffs his bangs just a bit.

Viktor kind of just wants to keep his hand there, feeling Yuuri’s hand warm up in his, shielding it from the chill coming off the ice. He kind of just wants to play with his hair to calm him down— Yuuri seems like the person to love that, which is good because Viktor’s like that, too.

All too soon, Yuuri pulls away, but the smile he gives Viktor  _ more than _ makes up for it.

“Lucky thing I’ve been keeping my skates here, huh?”

 

* * *

Skating with Viktor isn’t as scary as Yuuri thought it’d be, but… it’s  _ pretty _ damn close.

The champion doesn’t push him, though, which he can appreciate. They just do lazy figure eights, something simple and even calming, in a way. After all, this isn’t  _ practice _ , this is a— not a date, but… Something nice.

Viktor matches his pace beat for beat, which is another plus, because he sure doesn’t feel like  _ racing _ right now, and Yuuri takes his time to appreciate how effortless Viktor looks on the ice. Like he was  _ born _ for it, on it, in it,  _ made _ from it— that’s the only reason he knows it so well, right? Besides, Russians are weird, they probably  _ do _ give birth on the ice.

The thought makes him snort, then start snickering before he realizes he has  _ company _ as he skates, and it’s very  _ important  _ company— 

“Did I miss a joke?”

Yuuri jumps and looks to Viktor, who’s watching him with soft eyes and a smile.  _ Oh no, don’t look at me like that. _ “Uh, no, I just remembered something.”

“Enlighten me.” Viktor starts skating  _ backwards _ and Yuuri gets the feeling he won’t get out of this easily.

“You wouldn’t appreciate it.” He waves it off, but Viktor  _ never _ lets things just  _ go, _ apparently.  _ At least I’m already getting to know him, _ Yuuri thinks distantly, praying Viktor will take this one time and give it up, even when he knows he won’t.

In fact, he skates  _ closer, _ right into Yuuri’s personal space with that enchanting smile of his that  _ really _ shouldn’t be so attractive ( _ stop it, Yuuri _ ), especially when he’s got the look in his eye that, even in their short time together, Yuuri has come to recognize means trouble. “Who says?”

“I do.”

“Awfully pretentious, Yuuri.”

That makes him blush. “Awfully nosy, Viktor.”  _ That makes the blush worse why did he say that—  _

Viktor’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, and he laughs across the ice, clear and ringing as he falters in his step. Yuuri grins despite himself, absolutely delighted that he’s actually said something to make the other laugh, and so  _ loud _ . If he always laughs like that, Yuuri needs to start practicing his jokes. Or his sass.

“So you  _ do _ have some bite!” Viktor skates close, pokes him in the side and makes him yelp. “Hopefully you can be more at ease by the time we have to go  _ on air _ , if you will. You look so much better when you smile.”

Yuuri chokes on his own spit (which he didn’t believe could actually happen but  _ here we are _ ), eyes going wide. “I— uh—?” He moves to stop, but his brain is apparently  _ fried _ now, because he stumbles, toppling forward and— damn it all, right into Viktor, who tries to be valiant and keep him from an icy death.

It happens all too fast, with Yuuri’s hands on Viktor’s chest and Viktor’s arms coming up to catch Yuuri, and their eyes are the size of moons as they crash down onto the cold ice with dual yelps, more out of shock than anything.

The worst part? Yuuri landed  _ on Viktor’s chest. _

“I-I-I—”  _ I can’t breathe even though  _ I’m _ the one on  _ your _ chest. _ “I’m sorry—!” He plants his hands on the ice, realizing a little too late that it’s  _ cold cold cold _ , and pulls them back, hissing as he tries to sit up, but that just makes him  _ straddle _ Viktor which is  _ no damn better _ than what they had started with and— 

Viktor looks back up at him, amused. _Why is he amused?!_ _His back has to be_ freezing _by now._

The platinum-haired idol lifts himself up and—  _ are his arms around my waist?! _ He comes closer, one hand coming up to brush Yuuri’s even-more-disheveled hair out of his face. He’s smiling, soft and easy. He raises his eyebrows.

_ I can’t breathe. _

Viktor leans forward, and Yuuri can  _ swear _ he’s about to pass out, but all that happens is their noses coming together in a boop, the Russian grinning like a fool. “Did you ever get this far with your ex?”

_ Dammit. _

Yuuri shoves the other away, scrambling across the ice on his hands because  _ damn the cold, I’m going to die if I stay here. _ His butt’s cold, his knees are cold, but his face more than makes up for it. They could probably roast marshmallows over it if they tried hard enough.

Viktor frowns, and  _ the puppy eyes are back. _ “Why are you running away? It was just a question.”

Yuuri chokes. “I—? I  _ fell _ on you!”  _ And  _ for _ you, but that happened a long time ago, and I’m deeming it as irrelevant. _

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

_ What’s so important about the question?! _ “What—? No, no, I didn’t.” Maybe if he smushed his cheeks on the ice, he would kill the blush. “But— that’s a little far, don’t you think?”

“Well…” Viktor shrugs, another lazy smile coming to his face as he raises an eyebrow. “If we’re going to be dating, we need to get used to physical contact, right?”

“ _ Fake _ dating,” Yuuri corrects, hating how hasty he is with it. “And that wasn’t— it wasn’t  _ affection. _ ”

“Did you want it to be?”

He can’t do anything but squawk.

Viktor laughs yet again, and if he keeps doing that Yuuri won’t be able to focus on  _ anything. _ “Calm  _ down _ , Yuuri! I didn’t mean any harm, I promise.”

Yuuri gnaws on his lip, bringing his hands to settle in his lap. “I know.”

“Then why are you so upset?”

_ Once again: because you’re  _ you _ and I’m  _ me _!  _ He shrugs, looking down. “You just surprised me, is all.”

“And? You’ve surprised me, too. What’s a little payback among partners?”

Something in Viktor’s tone makes his heart flutter. He tries to think of something to say back, something like  _ What do you mean? _ or  _ How can you be so nonchalant? _ or  _ Were you going to kiss me because I don’t know how I would react but I  _ do  _ know that I  _ really _ want it—  _

He needs to get rid of this celebrity infatuation,  _ now. _

Before anything can come to mind for him to actually come out and  _ say anything, _ there’s a large hand held out to him, and he takes it. Viktor pulls him to his feet and pokes his chest.

“We’ll have to get more comfortable with each other if we’re going to make this believable,” he says, and he  _ winks. _

Yuuri can’t do anything except nod, numb.

“I think that’s enough skating for today, don’t you?”

_ Yes, please.  _ He nods again, unable to trust himself to speak.

“Then I guess we should head our separate ways.” After a moment of thought, Viktor grins at him. “Or do you want to catch dinner to continue getting to know each other?”

Yuuri has never nodded faster in his life.

 

* * *

Dinner is great, but nothing  _ big _ happens like it did at the rink, which leaves Viktor disappointed in a million different ways. He had gotten Yuuri to loosen, though, and he’s pretty sure he won’t get that laugh out of his head for a long while, yet. Or how those dark eyes had widened when he’d gotten so close, how he had  _ felt _ the sharp inhalation of breath against his lips, how he was so  _ mad _ that he had settled for a nose boop, nothing more.

He enters a dark, lonely room that he has to call home for another two days (this was the first, only  _ two more _ ). Makkachin greets him, and he’s more than happy to dish out affection like a positivity shower.  _ Poor baby, stuck in this dumb room— don’t worry, we won’t be here for long! _

Out of pure habit, he brings his phone out of his pocket, where it’s been completely ignored all day aside from when he punched Yuuri’s number into his contacts, and gives a tired smile as he sits on the bed he’s been given.

_ > why are you there? What’s so important? _

_ > Yakov wants to know, not me. He wants a call. _

It’s Yuri, the Russian one, and Viktor smirks.

_ > and, you know, the whole WORLD wants to know, too _

_ > just saying _

_ They don’t need to know everything about my decisions _ , he thinks almost mournfully. When did his life become a constant sports article?

_ > you’re not answering _

_ > ANSWER, dammit!!!!!! _

_ > VIKTOR FUCKING NIKIFOROV _

Teenagers at their finest.

_ > i’ve been told to put the phone down, but this isn’t over _

And it ends there, with Viktor’s shoulders shaking in quiet laughter. He’s grinning when he taps for a call and keeps the phone in his lap, where Yuri’s screech  _ won’t _ murder his ears. (He learned that trick ages ago— one of his best ideas, yet.)

Makkachin sits beside him, and he pets those fluffy brown ears as the dial tone rings and his mind flashes right back to Yuuri, where it will probably  _ stay _ for a long, long while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting these is so weird because it might be like eight pages in the files but on here it looks so small-- oh well.
> 
> Next up we have a angry Yuri Plisetsky, some stoic Otabek Altin, some flirty Viktor Nikiforov, and some confused Yuuri Katsuki. Oh, and shenanigans.


	3. Lessons in Affection (and everything else)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri drags Otabek into his scheme. Viktor and Yuuri try to set boundaries. Makkachin appears once more. Their talk leaves both of them more conflicted than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a doozy (4020 words!!! wow). The last chapter got such a warm reception that I wanted to get this one out a little early, hopefully it's a good thank you gift!
> 
> Stick with it guys, we're almost to the promise land.

“Un- _fucking_ -believable!”

A cell phone (decked out in a tiger print case) _whumps_ into the couch cushion beside Otabek Altin, landing with a smaller _thump_ , no harm actually done to the device. He eyes the screen, just barely catching the name _Viktor Nikifuckoff_ and the red symbol for _call ended_. With a small huff out his nose, he turns his gaze back to the pitcher.

Yuri Plisetsky prowls back and forth over the floor, head low and eyes glaring, much like a tiger— which is probably what he’s aiming for. His blond hair hangs in a sheet, messy from raking his hands through it in frustration, and his cheeks (and neck, but Otabek’s only checking out of worry, okay?) are dotted with blotches of red, the telltale sign of him being _pissed_. He’s grumbling to himself, but Otabek catches the not-so-rare _bastard_ s and _asshole_ s thrown in there.

He tilts his head. “I take it the call didn’t go well?” He knows the answer to that, of course— he had been the one present for Yuri’s half of the conversation. All the yelling, swearing, angry bits of it. _You can’t do this!_ and _This is nuts!_ and _I’M CALM AS FUCK!_

Yuri groans through his teeth, throwing a glare at the phone as if _it_ is the cause of his woes, something vaguely threatening in his gaze. Otabek gently takes it into his hands and slips it into his pocket, just to protect it from any more bouts of teenage rage.

“Yura,” he tries again when the groan stands to be the only response he gets.

“I don’t fucking _get it!_ He’s at the top of his league, the prime of his career, and he just _steps back?_ Who does that? Who fucking does that?” Yuri’s voice is loud and pitched, though none of the true anger is directed at Otabek, which is why those blazing green eyes won’t meet his own brown ones— just so they don’t even risk a clash. “No matter how hard I try, I can’t understand that dumbass.”

Otabek shrugs— one of his favorite gestures, to be honest. Here comes the dancing conversation he calls the Fencing, where they go back and forth until one or both gets tired. Or if Otabek loses patience, but that never happens. It’s especially good for getting Yuri to run out of steam. “Viktor Nikiforov isn’t easy to understand. It’s part of why he’s such a good performer. He’s good with surprises, that kind of thing.” And it seems this was Nikiforov’s biggest trick, yet.

“But this isn’t a _performance!_ ” Yuri balls his hands into fists at his sides, shoulders hitching up like some sort of offended cat. “It’s his career, made up of _smaller_ performances. He’s just being stupid! He didn’t even tell anyone, he just up and left like it was nothing!” A sharp close, meant to stop any argument before it happens.

Otabek shrugs once more, parrying the diversion easily. “He went looking for that Katsuki guy, yeah?”

Now Yuri’s on the defense, blocking swings that aren’t even coming, really. “That _Katsuki_ guy—! Don’t even get me _started_ on that, I swear on the ice—” He’s stumbling.

Time to go in for the disarm. “So he has a perfectly good reason for—”

But Yuri’s not giving up, not yet. “That’s not a good reason, it’s pure _shit!_ Finding _inspiration_ and learning new things— He can learn here, find inspiration _here._ Where he can coordinate my fucking debut!”

Ah, the weak point. He could make a thrust at it, but by the way Yuri’s seething, it seems the only good way to handle the situation is to sheathe the sword and offer a hand in peace. Otabek blinks slowly at the young Russian before patting his knees in a silent request. Anything to keep Yuri from pacing like that, because it’s starting to make him dizzy.

He’s almost worried that he’ll be denied merely because of the temper and awkward position. Thankfully, Yuri plops himself right down between his knees, legs crossed and back to him. It’s their pose, something Otabek had discovered a while back— Yuri’s a cat who craves attention, even if he doesn’t admit it directly. And he also _loves_ having his hair played with.

The Kazakh twists a blond strand around his finger, trying not to worry about how the position seems a little _intimate_ . He’s mature, he can ignore that distant thought because Yuri’s back to grumbling with the _bastard_ s and the _asshole_ s, too engrossed in his fit to bother with anything else than the topic at hand. He needs some basic affection (even if he won’t admit it), so Otabek obliges him.

They sit, and Otabek listens to the grumbles for a who knows how long, combing a hand through Yuri’s hair with gentle care. After all, the younger isn’t a fan of his hair being ruined— though he loves having others in his hair, he wants them to leave it looking just as it did before or better. Which is why Otabek had learned to perfect his braiding skills— or, at least, _tried to._

“... You could always just follow him, y’know,” he muses quietly when Yuri’s angry huffs lessen into something almost calm. The other goes ramrod straight, startling Otabek out of his ministrations.

“ _That’s it…_ ” he murmurs like it’s some sort of amazing revelation. “That’s it!” He laughs almost maniacally and holds up his hand, turning to flash a glance at Otabek from under his lashes just to torment him—

(Or maybe Otabek’s projecting.)

“Phone,” he says, smirking.

The Kazakh hands it over with no complaint, a small, almost imperceptible smile on his own lips. He watches those dainty pale thumbs dart over the screen with a speed he can’t replicate, looking at costs and distances and times before—

“We leave tomorrow morning.”

Otabek chokes. “Tomorrow? Morning?” _We?_

Yuri looks at him, confused. “Quickest flight I could get.”

“We?”

A groomed eyebrow crooks at him. “You don’t want me roaming around in that pigsty _alone_ , do you?”

 _Got me there._ “How long are we even…?”

“We’ll get through it when we come to it. Just… pack for a while. A week?”

A _week?_ “What about training—?” The fact that Yuri has taken this so _seriously_ is what’s got him so stunned, really.

“They’ve got to have a rink there— where else would Katsuki practice?” Yuri shrugs, flippant despite being in a rage just a few moments ago. “We take our skates, I’ll deal with getting Yakov’s expectations for the week, and Viktor will _have_ to choreograph me.” There’s no doubt in his voice, no sense of unease that Otabek can detect, almost like the plan’s _foolproof_ no matter how many holes are in it.

At least Christmas is covered— they both celebrate it in the beginning of January, not December. And they’ll get back in time for New Year’s (hopefully).

Otabek doesn’t realize he’s combing through Yuri’s hair again, much like he thinks Yuri doesn’t realize how his eyes have closed as he talks, a sprinkling of _serenity_ on his face that maybe sort of gives the Kazakh that weird twisting feeling in his stomach that he desperately wants to blame on weird food.

He sighs, reaches into his other pocket for the hair tie he always keeps on hand, pulling Yuri’s hair back.

Yuri blinks up at him. “What was that for?”

Otabek shrugs.

Yuri doesn’t stop staring.

He gives in. “... Wanted to see your eyes.”

Yuri’s brow scrunches. “I still have bangs, you know.”

Shot down. “Didn’t think about that part.”

The Russian huffs a laugh, reaching back to pat the new style. “Guess you didn’t, Beka.”

There’s a silence, though it’s not awkward at all, just comfortable while they sit instead of getting packed like they should really, _really_ be worrying about. Otabek’s too worried about the slip-up— _I wanted to see your eyes_ , how honest can he be? At least Yuri hadn’t laughed _meanly,_ just amused and true, like he always laughed around Otabek. _You’re not helping the situation._

“I just don’t get it,” Yuri wonders, another tinge of anger in his voice that snaps Otabek out of his self-reprimanding. “Why go after Katsuki? I don’t know what he expects to find there— that guy’s a wimp without alcohol in him. Whatever he’s looking for, he’ll have to wait God knows how long.”

Otabek hums, if only to keep his next words from being spoken.

_Some people are worth waiting for, Yura._

* * *

 

In hindsight, a so-called “lesson in affection” should have brought up warning bells in Yuuri’s mind from the start. But he had been tired when he got the text that morning and replied simply so he could get a few more minutes of sleep.

Now he’s regretting ever checking his phone in such a vulnerable state. He’ll have to lock the thing up in a safe whenever he lays down from now until the end of time.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says in that gentle tone he has, jolting him out of his storm of embarrassed regret.

The rink is empty yet again, thanks to Yuuko. She had given him a bit of trouble this time, eyeing him with that _look_ that he knows can see right through him when he had tried to say it was for intense practice. Eventually, though, she relented, like she always does if Yuuri begs enough, and here they are.

(But not without Yuuri having to _promise_ to tell her if something’s up, which he’s very, _very_ nervous about actually doing.)

They’re not skating this time. Yuuri had shot that idea down after the events of yesterday, so they’re sitting on a bench, the seating uncomfortable enough to keep the daydreams away and take his mind off of the current disaster happening. _Focus on the stiff spine, Yuuri._

“Yuuri,” Viktor tries again, and Yuuri resists the urge to groan, “we need boundaries, yes? We need to act like a couple, but I need to know what’s good and what’s not. I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable around your family.”

His ears are _burning_ . Boundaries? He has too many, especially around _Viktor_ , because if he didn’t, they would be a _lot_ closer than they are right now. And probably not sitting in this rink. Or even really sitting— _Stop thinking!_

“I…” He swallows, hoping Viktor doesn’t hear it. He keeps teeth latched onto a corner of his lips. “I don’t know what—”

“Hand holding.” Viktor leans forward, eyes hard. _He’s_ really _taking this seriously._ It’s almost funny, but Yuuri’s too busy being mortified to snicker. “Would that make you uncomfortable?”

“Uh— no, not with uh…” Yuuri blinks, looking at his own hands as his voice drops to a low murmur. “Pre-exposure.” _Here come the flaming ears, nice to see you two again._

He doesn’t see Viktor’s lips twitch into a smile, but it happens.

“Casual touching? Arm around waist, hand on your shoulder, hooking arms…”

“... Same as before.”

“Eye contact, longing gazes filled with unspoken truths…” Okay, now he’s just _teasing._ Yuuri looks up to reprimand him, but instead he just sort of… stares. At him, at his eyes. _Don’t look at his mouth._ His mouth. _Dammit._

Viktor’s smile is softer this time. “Seems like you’re already mastering the art!”

 _If I’m a master, you’re a god._ And _really_ good at acting… the heat of his gaze coils low in Yuuri’s belly, springs up to his heart. His cheeks burn, he knows, but at this point, Viktor’s just making him blush for fun. “Alright.”

“Kissing?”

The blush travels down his neck, hidden by his scarf. “I— Uh—?”

“Not anything on the _lips_ , of course.” Now there’s the jingle of repressed giddiness in Viktor’s voice. “Just the forehead, cheek… that kind of thing. If I can help it, I’ll stay away from your lips.”

Yuuri plays with his hands, wringing them around each other in his lap as he thinks out his response _very_ carefully. No, he doesn’t want the agony of not actually kissing him. Yes, he wants his lips on his cheek. And other places, but that’s not right for a family party— _Stop_.

He must be taking too long, because Viktor takes one of his hands in a gentle-but-firm grasp that makes him realize he’s been having his hands go at each other this whole time, his anxiety completely on display. There’s an apology at the tip of his tongue when he looks back to Viktor, to his blue blue _blue_ eyes, but they’re not looking at him. Or, his _eyes_ , at least.

Yuuri gets a front row seat as Viktor raises his hand to his lips, brushing them over his knuckles— It’s almost like he doesn’t even _feel_ it, he just watches it and marvels at how real this dream is, how _real_ Viktor’s half-lidded eyes are when they meet his again, how _real_ his hair is as it falls over his forehead, how _real_ his smile is, no matter how soft and warm it looks, curling around Yuuri’s heart, sweet like honey.

“Like that, for example.”

Yuuri sputters. “A bit of warning next time would be— uh, be good.”

Viktor merely cocks his head. “We might not get the chance to give warning at the party.”

“But for _now_ , when we’re practicing, I would like some warning.”

The Russian nods. “Alright, but you’re going to have to tell me how to help with your anxiety. Should we have a code word to avoid it? A hand signal?”

Oh, now they need a _safe word?_ “I don’t think that’s necessary, Viktor.”

It’s quiet. Awkwardly quiet. Yuuri’s hyper-aware of how Viktor hasn’t released his hand, just tucked the two clasped things in the space between them, gentle and warm and promising.

“I don’t want you to regret this.” Viktor’s got this _look_ on his face, something weird and conflicted and pleading, something almost like—

Yuuri laughs, sudden and sharp, cut off before it grows into something longer. _Regret?_ No, he doesn’t regret this at all, he just got his hand kissed like something out of a movie and Viktor hadn’t even batted an eye. But he had looked so _absorbed_ in it, like he was, like he might—

 _It’s fake, it’s fake, it’s fake_ , he chants to himself in silent panic, trying to ease his heart’s flight. _Not real, this is a deal, calm down—_

But he can’t get over how the tips of Viktor’s ears are pink. Is it from the cold or—?

He shakes his head. “No, I—” He clears his throat to lower his pitch. “It’s just, general nerves? Don’t worry, I won’t regret it.” _And if I do, it’ll be because of me doing something stupid, not you._

Viktor purses his lips, and Yuuri has that brief moment of panic full of _did I say the wrong thing—?_ He can _feel_ the scrutiny radiating from those damnably blue eyes, so he tries the age-old tactic of hiding-in-your-scarf. (His term for it is Turtling.)

Then Viktor’s face completely switches, a light bulb almost literally appearing with his excitement. “Yuuri, can we go on a walk?”

He frowns. “A walk?”

“A walk. With your legs.” Viktor smiles. “Since you’re so against skating.”

“What if— someone sees you?” _Us._

“Well then…” The Russian grins in the bright way he uses for everything. “What a reveal, right?”

“ _Viktor._ ”

He laughs. “Alright, alright— is there somewhere quiet around here?”

 _Everywhere’s quiet, it’s always been like this._ “... I could be able to find somewhere.”

If it’s possible, Viktor’s grin brightens. “Great! But we need to stop by my room first— I have someone I want you to meet.”

* * *

 

Yuuri getting tackled by Makkachin is almost at the top of Viktor’s list of favorite moments to be witness to. The Japanese skater screeches as he goes down, arms flailing and eyes going wide. He goes down hard, which makes Viktor wince in sympathy, so of course the Russian closes the door quietly behind him before crouching.

“Are you o—” He stops, then grins so hard his face hurts.

Yuuri’s _laughing,_ scrubbing at Makkachin’s ears and encouraging the play. He’s laughing even when he looks up at Viktor from his sad spot on the floor— laughing, with the corner of his eyes crinkling and expression _open_ and _happy_ and Viktor might need to be revived by the end of this.

(He gives himself a pat on the back for remembering the whole animals-can-comfort idea.)

“Is this our plus one?” Yuuri asks, smooshing Makkachin’s face. “I didn’t know you had such charming company, isn’t that right—?” Then he sits up, and Makkachin accommodates him only to get showered in even more affection. He coos, and Viktor thinks he’s about to ascend, if the light feeling in his chest is any indication.

“Uh— yeah!” _Snap out of it, Viktor!_ “I would say meet Makkachin, but it looks like you two are already well-acquainted.”

Yuuri gives Makkachin one last head pat before standing up. His smile is soft and warm and open and happy, and— _Stop staring, Viktor._ “This one isn’t scared of water, right?”

“Not at all.” Viktor doesn’t even know he’s responding anymore, he’s put on autopilot while he screams in the back of his head. “Why?”

“Because we’re going to the ocean.”

* * *

 

It turns out to not be much of a walk, more like a respite. There’s no one around— the ocean’s too cold for any sort of swimming, and there’s still a chill in the air from the season. So Viktor finds himself seated beside Yuuri, Makkachin nestled between them. He doesn’t fail to notice how Yuuri isn’t sitting so closed-in like he has before. He also doesn’t fail to notice how Yuuri’s hair lifts up in breezes and ruffles like feathers and how he wants to run his fingers through it.

_Viktor, slow down._

“I like the seagulls,” he says without much thought— actually, he says it to _escape_ his thoughts. “They remind me of St. Petersburg.”

Yuuri cocks his head a bit, lips downturned in a thoughtful little frown. He catches his bottom lip between his teeth again, gnawing enough to make Viktor wince in sympathy— _Wait, stop looking at what he’s doing with his lips, for the love of—_

“Are you missing anyone there?”

“Uh—” Viktor blinks. “What do you mean?”

Yuuri shrugs. “It’s Christmas, I’m wondering if you have anyone waiting for you back in Russia.”

Is that a subtle way to ask if he has any love interest back home? He hadn’t mentioned family specifically, that could have been his objective in bringing up the topic, which means he’s showing interest— **_Viktor._ **

“No,” he says, smiling. “Christmas in Russia is on the seventh of January, don’t worry.” He winks without thinking. “You have me all to yourself until then.”

Yuuri’s face flares. “So you’re planning on staying…?”

Viktor shrugs, feeling a little too warm in the cheeks. “You could say that.”

It’s silent, the only sounds being the cries of the gulls and the waves rolling up the beach. Makkachin pants softly, as if sensing the atmosphere, as well. _Bless you, darling._

Viktor clears his throat. “Only if you’re okay with that, of course.”

“No, no—! I’d be happy to keep you a while longer, or—” Yuuri sighs, and Viktor loves how his ears are going red. “... You know what I mean.”

Viktor’s heart grows three sizes.

“But…”

And then it shrinks five sizes.

Yuuri swallows, as if he’s trying to figure out how to say something. He brings his knees up to rest his chin on them. “That would mean us faking… _this_ even longer.”

Viktor desperately tries to keep disappointment out of his tone, instead raising it to be flippant as he focuses _very intensely_ on the ocean. “... You’re right.”

And that’s the end of that, apparently, because Yuuri just nestles himself further into his knees. The blush is gone, his eyes are distant, his frown is back in full force. Viktor _needs_ to fix it.

What does he say? _Hey, it’s alright— I came here to only try to coach you, which, sure, I may have fallen for you at that afterparty that seems so long ago now and that might be the real reasoning behind this, but that doesn’t matter! … If you’re willing to ditch the fake part of this whole arrangement, though, that would be_ amazing. Yeah, right. Viktor’s not one to fear rejection as violently as some others might, but rejection in this situation would ruin this opportunity for their careers, would ruin Viktor’s chance to stay with Yuuri for the whole of the next season. _If he even decides to go back after his slip-up…_

“What will we be when this is over?”

He wants to slap himself. Hopefully he was quiet enough under the waves—

“... What?”

 _End me now._ “Nothing, just thinking out loud,” he says.

“Oh.” _Oh mother of— is that disappointment or am I just imagining it?_

For a man who wears his heart on his sleeve, Yuuri seems to confuse Viktor _way_ too much. “Do you want to walk back?” he asks, and he’s expecting a future version of him to come from nowhere, hit him on the head, and say, _Don’t ruin this._

“Yeah, sure.”

When they walk back, Viktor holds Yuuri’s hand. At the door, he raises it to his lips and kisses the back of it again.

“I really _do_ like you, Yuuri. Don’t doubt that.”

It’s a confession but also not, and Yuuri nods, quiet as a mouse and looking just as fragile. He walks away. Viktor closes the door, ignores his heart pounding, resists the urge to run back out and pour his heart out.

 _This is turning out_ much _more difficult than thought._

* * *

 

They part ways when they get back to Viktor’s room— having Viktor walk _Yuuri_ home would be risking getting caught early. Yuuri pets Makkachin one more time, then his fingers slip from Viktor’s and he hears himself say goodbye before turning and making to walk home. He can’t name the terrible hopeful feeling in his chest— _I really do like you._ What does that mean? Is that a green light?

Could they make it real?

No, he needs to wait until after Christmas before even thinking about bringing that up.

It’s a special torture to know that it’s all a rouse (for now), but he can’t get rid of the thought of Viktor’s umbrella over his head, the genuinely concerned tone he’s used, how he had so easily wrapped himself around Yuuri when they crashed on the ice, the feeling of his lips dusting over Yuuri’s knuckles to bring him out of his thoughts, how he had looked almost _reverent_ when he was watching Yuuri at the beach.

He can’t keep doing this falsely. It’s not fair to himself, not at all, but what is he supposed to say? _I’ve kind of wanted to kiss you since I first saw you ever in magazines and now that I’ve actually met you, I’m sold. You like me, and I don’t know what that really means, but would you mind indulging me for a moment or five?_

He’s being ridiculous. They’ve been in this whirlwind (fake) relationship for what, three days? And one doesn’t even count because that was just setting this whole thing _up._ He doesn’t _know_ Viktor.

 _But what I wouldn’t give to have the_ chance _to..._

Yuuri runs a hand down his face, falling back on his bed and resisting the urge to bury himself in pillows and not emerge until Christmas is over. He _desperately_ hopes his mother hasn’t noticed his new mood upon returning home, but if she has, she hasn’t said anything.

_I need to tell him._

But only after Christmas. He’s not going to risk the Christmas party, and… he _wants_ Viktor to be there, faking or not.

His phone’s out before he really notices it. He needs to let this out, to vent and get an _expert_ opinion. While the dial tone rings, he steels himself.

“Yuuri, hi!”

He smiles, tired. “You know how I took over the rink today…?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seems like Yuuri's forgetting what a kiss even means... Don't worry, Yuuko's going to set him straight. Well, not STRAIGHT, but--
> 
> Next chapter will be game day, Viktor meeting the family, Yuuri psyching himself up, and both of them being lovesick as hell.
> 
> Oh, and some jet-lagged Otabek and Yuri P. dealing with their own conflicts.
> 
> (My Tumblr is thiefofthecosmos if y'all wanna idk. Be my pal or smth.)

**Author's Note:**

> So? How was it?
> 
> If it was good, nod. If it was bad, shake your head. Okay, now comment so I actually know if you nodded or not.


End file.
